Bored shitless on the Eurostar, bit thirsty like. Chugging along, knees squashed up, dude next to you playing air drums like Keith Moon getting tangoed. Look outside… flat, flat, flat. The frigging low countries. Nothing for it… Carriage 7: One of your finest Dooovals please bilingual bartender.

A cheeky sesh, throat all croaky from the schmoke. You get drawn Standard Liege in the Waste Of Space Bumhola League. Eyes glaze over. Mulch over to the kitchenette. A sweet botle of Duuuvel, please Mr. Fridge.

A toast to a couple of Duvels, any more and you’re toast.

Flemish barmaids lactate it